


The Game of Love

by November Snowflake (novembersnow)



Series: Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/pseuds/November%20Snowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which all the following questions are addressed, though not all are answered: Is there anything more than just kinky sex between Harry and Draco? Will Ron and Hermione ever get a bit of "alone" time to sort things out? Why did Tom Riddle *really* become evil? And just what is up with Blaise Zabini?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Utterly pointless sequel to "Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places." Originally posted December 16, 2002.
> 
> Allusions are fun! Here are mine: The Quidditch-fight-becomes-groping(-and-more) scenes are a bizarre tribute to Aja’s LUW, while the phrase “wand of manly glee” is blatantly stolen from Ivy Blossom’s “Extracurricular: Mock Two.” (And as for the fish thing...sorry, couldn’t resist.)

The day of the last Quidditch game of the school year dawned clear and bright, and spirits were high. It was only two weeks before the end of term, so the summer holidays lay sprawled before the younger students, while thoughts of imminent graduation danced before the seventh years. But first, and perhaps most importantly, there was the last game of the year, the final confrontation between now-legendary Seekers Harry Potter of Gryffindor and Draco Malfoy of Slytherin. Though their antipathy had seemed to wane a bit over the last year or so--for reasons no one could claim to know--there was no doubt it would be a game for the ages. The stands were packed, and an expectant hush fell over the spectators as the opposing teams took their places on the pitch. When Madam Hooch blew her whistle, the screams were deafening.

The teams shot into the air, and the commentary began from Merry Smee, the overly excitable Hufflepuff who had taken over when Lee Jordan graduated.

_"Gryffindor takes possession of the Quaffle, and, oh! It's a nice pass from Farrell to Weasley. Weasley is charging toward the goal, and...no! Blocked by Slytherin keeper Nobles! Zabini takes the Quaffle...."_

Harry and Draco hovered slightly above the action, eyes peeled for the glint of gold that signaled the arrival of the Snitch. Every so often, their gazes would meet, and Harry felt his face growing incrementally as red as his Gryffindor uniform. For his part, Draco shifted on his broomstick, thinking darkly that brooms were not well enough equipped to accommodate the sort of excitement that could...arise...from a good Quidditch game.

Half-listening to the sounds of Merry's exuberant narration as Ginny Weasley scored for Gryffindor, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and quickly turned his head. The Snitch was hovering near the center of the field! He swung his broom around and was off like a shot, Harry mirroring him on the opposite side of the pitch. They both flew with their bodies close to their broomsticks, heads down, fingers tensed for the grab. The crowd below was in a frenzy, but neither heard, concentration focused solely on the glinting prize.

_Closer...closer...al...most...there...._

When the two Seekers were inches away, the Snitch surged abruptly upward. Both pulled the noses of their broomsticks up, but miscalculated the distance separating them from each other. There was a loud _crack!_ as the broomsticks crashed together, and Harry and Draco grabbed onto each other, spinning with the momentum of the collision.

The crowd gasped.

Up in the air, the Seekers grappled with each other, soaring ever higher.

"You rotten git...!"

"Bloody Gryffindor...!"

"Get your hand off my--"

"What do you think you're--"

"Don't think I'm going to--"

"Potter, you're--"

"Draco--"

"Harry--"

* * *

Meanwhile, in the faculty box....

"Oh, dear, it looks like Potter and Malfoy are fighting up there!"

"Didn't that happen a couple years ago?"

"Yes, but at least they were on the ground then...."

"Er...." Squinting. "Actually, I don't think they're fighting."

"What do you mean?"

A pair of omnioculars passed from hand to hand.

"Oh. Oh my."

"Goodness."

"Merlin's beard! I didn't know you could _do_ that on a broomstick!"

"Well, well...house points for creativity."

"Minerva!"

"Well, turnabout is fair play, I say…."

* * *

Up in the sky, Harry dragged his mouth away from Draco's long enough to gasp, "Draco, are you wearing a garter belt?"

Draco pulled Harry back into position and bucked his hips harder, his voice coming in pants. "Yes. I decided to give it a try. My father swears by them. And it is something...of a lovely sensation...under the uniform…."

Harry groaned. "You're telling me."

* * *

Down in the Gryffindor stands, Ron looked up, his face twisted with disgust. "What does Harry think he's doing? I don't see how he can beat the stuffing out of Malfoy in that position."

"Ron...." Next to him, Hermione's voice trailed off as she realized she'd probably be better off not correcting his assumption. Ron was in a particularly touchy mood today, having broken his arm in practice yesterday and been forbidden from playing in today's game by a concerned Madam Pomfrey. It was only through Pomfrey's indulgence that he was even here in the audience, as the fracture had been a severe one. He had played Beater for the last two years--and was a good one--but yesterday he'd been distracted and failed to see a Bludger coming at him. The resultant shattering of the bone had been heard all the way up in Gryffindor Tower. He'd gotten into a shouting match with Madam Pomfrey this morning over whether he'd be allowed to play, but she insisted the bone needed more time to mend. Professor McGonagall's intervention had finally decided matters--Ron was benched, and bitter about it. No one even knew what had precipitated the accident yesterday--he refused to talk about it now, and when the team had taken him to the hospital wing yesterday, he'd been raving about a centaur who was stalking him and hanging around the back doors to the Hogwarts kitchens. (At Ron's mention of the word _centaur_ , Harry had swallowed guiltily and taken a stealthy look around. But all he saw were a large shape and a smaller one slipping into the shadows behind the kitchens.) Not that it mattered in the end. Ron was still sidelined.

Hermione tried to comfort him, but he'd been nervous around her ever since her failed attempt at seduction not long ago. Every time she even hinted at something beyond friendship, he tensed up and his eyes shifted toward any windows that might be in the vicinity. Maybe she should try being more subtle, she'd think, then shake her head. Subtlety was lost on Ron like no one else she knew. So now she just patted his uninjured arm and tried to divert his attention back to the rest of the game. Despite herself, though, she couldn't help fearing something evil was afoot. Certainly Harry wouldn't be doing _that_ with Malfoy without the influence of Dark Magic....

* * *

_"Zabini is closing in on the Gryffindor goalposts!"_ Merry's narration continued. _"He...I mean, she...I mean, er...Zabini scores!"_

The Slytherin crowd went wild. Blaise was something of an enigma to most of the students at Hogwarts; that is, no one seemed to know whether Blaise was male or female. Or if they did, they weren't admitting. (It was well known that Draco Malfoy had carried on a brief fling with Blaise last year, but when it ended, he remained tight-lipped and white-faced about the entire affair.) The thing was, Blaise wore dresses sometimes, so nobody was sure whether Blaise was simply a horse-faced woman or else a cross-dressing man. Given that Blaise was a Slytherin, either was a distinct possibility.

But there was no denying Blaise was a good Chaser, and the cheers for Slytherin's first goal were so loud and distracting, almost no one noticed when Blaise dropped an object onto the pitch below. But everyone took note when it began to smoke.

A flash of light issued from the center of the pitch, and a monstrous plume of green smoke appeared, causing screams in the stands. When the smoke cleared, a single figure stood on the pitch, limned in green and holding what was barely recognizable as a book.

"Tom Riddle!" gasped Ginny.

Both Quidditch teams--including a worse-for-the-wear Harry and Draco--touched down on the pitch, forming a large, open circle around the handsome boy at its center. Few knew who the figure was, but everyone recognized Dark Magic when they saw it. Riddle smiled. "Miss Weasley. How lovely to see you again."

"I can't say the same," she replied.

He laughed.

"How did you get here, Riddle?" Harry snarled, held back only by Draco's restraining hand on his arm.

"Mr.--er, Miss--er, Zabini here has been kind enough to write in my diary these past several months." He tossed the book into the air, flipping the filthy, tattered object end-over-end before it smacked back into his palm, then turned to Blaise. "I thank you for the assistance, Zabini. But"--he looked slightly green, from more than the light and smoke--"you don't need to do so anymore, all right? Really. You can put your, er, confidences elsewhere." Blaise looked disappointed, but cheered somewhat when Riddle tossed the book in Blaise's direction. "Just hold onto that for a bit, will you? Can't risk it falling into the wrong hands, you know." He winked, and Blaise beamed.

"But--why?" Harry insisted. "We vanquished Lord Voldemort last year. Your earthly incarnation has been dead for months. We were going to have the first Dark Lord-free year in decades. Why'd you have to come screw it up?"

Riddle chuckled and pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket. "Just one more item to mark off on my Evil Checklist," he chortled. He conjured a quill and made a flourish, then snapped his fingers and both quill and parchment disappeared. "All I have to do now is release a few hundred incomprehensible plebefics on the Muggle internet, and my day will be complete."

The audience was struck silent by the pure horror that was Tom Riddle.

"Actually," Riddle said, spreading his hands, "I've come to take over the world. What else is a career Evil Overlord good for?" A glittering circlet appeared in the air between his palms. "And, as the Heir of Slytherin, I've brought my Tiara of Doom."

Everyone gasped.

"Now all I need is a hapless victim!" Blaise started to step forward eagerly, but Riddle quickly put a hand up. "No, no, you've done enough already, really. I had someone else in mind." He swung toward Ginny and crooked a finger at her. Between them, the Tiara hung suspended in midair, circling slowly, the facets of its gems glinting in the morning light. "Come here, my lovely," he crooned.

"No," she said.

He was indignant. "No? No?! How _dare_ you refuse the Dark Lord? You were eager enough to do my bidding five years ago."

"Yeah, well," she replied, examining her fingernails, "my tastes don't run toward your type anymore."

"And just what type is that? Handsome? Powerful?"

"Dead, actually," she said. "Oh, and evil too," she added, almost as an afterthought. "I can't deny the allure of the bad boy, and"--she flashed her eyes at Blaise, who almost fell over in dizzy excitement--"I do like a good mystery. But you're a bit more of an enigma than I'm really willing to deal with just now." She shrugged. "Sorry."

Riddle stared at her, slack-jawed, then composed himself to spit, "You would turn down an opportunity to wear the Tiara of Doom? The most powerful weapon known to wizardkind?"

Ginny's eyes blazed, and she took a step forward. "Now, isn't that just like a man? Assuming a woman would want to be an instrument in the destruction of the world, just to wear a bit of sparkle on her head."

"I just thought--"

"You _didn't_ think!" Ginny snapped, and Riddle actually took a step backward. "You thought, hey, the pretty girl will like the pretty bauble, so I'll just make _her_ my tool of ultimate destruction." She turned to look up at the audience. "I mean, really, ladies. Don't you consider it positively medieval--even barbaric--that in this enlightened day and age we are still valued for our looks instead of our minds?"

High in the Gryffindor stands, Ron smacked a hand to his forehead. "I knew she was spending too much time with Hermione."

Next to him, Hermione beamed at Ginny, as at a prize pupil. But she paused to elbow Ron. "Your sister is a lot smarter than you are sometimes. I don't know why I even put up with you."

He grinned. "Must be my irresistible Weasley charm."

She considered. "No. That isn't it." He turned an indignant face to her, and she grinned, then leaned in closer, emboldened by the distraction of the people around them. "Actually," she whispered, and he tensed, "it's your big, strong...wand."

His face turned even redder than his hair, which surprised the hell out of him, as he was keenly aware that most of the blood in his body seemed to be rushing to locations other than his head. He gawked at her, and she gave him a sultry smile even as Ginny's voice droned on in the background. Her knee pressed against his thigh, her fingers wove themselves between his own, their lips were an inch apart, when a single sentence broke their seductive spell.

_"Accio Hermione!"_

Ron's eyes were closed, his frame tense in expectation of the long-wished-for kiss, and then he felt only a rush of air instead of the lips he'd waited to have pressed to his. His eyes shot open to see an empty space on the bench next to him. Following the gazes of the people around him, he looked down just in time to see Hermione land with a thump on the pitch below.

"Goddamn it," he groaned. "Not again."

Hermione, meanwhile, jumped to her feet and, dusting off her derriere, lit into Ginny. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Ginny was taken aback by the shrewish tone. "I...was just hoping you'd be able to provide some support for my arguments."

"You don't need me!" Hermione yelled. "You're doing fine combating evil all on your own!"

Ginny twirled the toe of one shoe in the dirt. "You really think so?"

"Yes!" Hermione replied, her voice unchanged in volume. "Now put me back up there! I have important matters to attend to, if you don't mind!"

Ginny glanced up into the stands, where Ron sent her a sheepish wave. "Oh, all right," she sighed, and promptly Banished Hermione back up, where she landing squarely in Ron's lap.

"That's it," Hermione grumbled. "I'm not taking any more chances. No more teasing, no more flirting, no more staged seductions." She grabbed hold of either side of Ron's head and planted her lips firmly over his. After a single, startled moment, he responded eagerly, and the entire stadium--even Riddle--began to hoot and holler.

Hagrid's voice boomed out. "Blimey! Now that's what I call a kiss, I do!"

Down on the field, Riddle went suddenly still. "Rubeus? Is that Rubeus?"

All eyes swung toward where Hagrid towered above the rest of the spectators. "Yeh got tha' right, yeh no-good rotter. Rubeus Hagrid, what you got _expelled_ all them years ago."

Riddle's stark countenance visibly crumbled. "Rubeus! You can't mean you hate me still!"

Hagrid's eyebrows lowered. "O' course, I hate yeh. Yeh got me expelled, an' yeh tried ter kill all me friends an' take over the world. Why should'n' I hate yeh?"

"But...but...." Riddle twisted his elegant hands anxiously, and the crowd was hushed in fascination (with the sole exception of Ron and Hermione, who were still snogging like there was no tomorrow--and, indeed, with an Evil Overlord on the loose, who's to say whether there would be a tomorrow?). "But..." Riddle stammered, "I only did it because I loved you!"

Everyone froze. Hagrid's jaw dropped in horror. "Yeh--what?"

"It was my secret shame," Riddle confessed, almost crying, burying his face in his hands. "I saw you once in the showers and was entranced by your...wand of manly glee. The thought consumed me. But," he cried, flinging his hands wide, "how could I be one of _those_ fellows? Those...queer chaps. And so..."--he looked at Hagrid with pleading eyes--"...I had to remove the object of my temptation, lest I risk it interfering with the course I had set for my life. You understand...don't you?"

"You ruined an innocent man's life, and you call it love?" Harry exclaimed. Even Draco and some of the other Slytherins looked disapproving.

Riddle was still gazing at Hagrid, his expression one of adoration combined with dawning realization. "You hate me?" he asked, his voice small now. "All these years, I've held the thought of you close to my heart and...you've hated me?"

Hagrid glowered. "Yeh've got the right of it there."

The wail that came from Riddle then seemed to rise from the soles of his feet, gaining power as it swept upward until it burst out of his mouth at a volume that made people in the audience clap their hands over their ears. " _Nooooooo...._ " His hands tore into his hair. "For years I have striven and suffered, and for what? So that the one person I have ever loved could callously reject me in front of hundreds of spectators!" He began to sob. "I can't take it anymore! All these decades of simmering torment have been too much!" His hand shook violently as he pointed his wand toward the filthy, battered diary Blaise still held. "Don't anyone try to stop me," Riddle whimpered. No one in the audience murmured even a faint protest as he struck a dramatic pose and wailed, " _Incendio!_ " The book went up in a ball of flames, causing Blaise to screech and drop it. With one last plaintive moan, Tom Riddle and the Tiara of Doom winked out of existence.

The spectators looked in horrified fascination at the pile of smoldering ashes that used to be the diary and the faint impression on the pitch that showed where Riddle had been standing. There was awed silence until one voice piped up, "So that's what happens when you stay in the closet too long."

All eyes turned to look at Harry.

He felt suddenly self-conscious. "I mean, look at how he bottled everything up. It's no wonder it all eventually came unleashed in an explosion of murderous rage."

"Whereas if he'd just been honest about his feelings, none of this would have happened?" Draco sneered.

"Well...." Harry shifted nervously. "Maybe so." His eyes were big as he looked at Draco.

Draco became suspicious. "You're not about to play Boy Hero again, are you, Potter? Don't even think about it--!"

"I can't help it," Harry said, looking at the other boy solemnly. "I love you, Draco Malfoy."

The audience gasped.

"You are an enormous prat, you know that?" Draco said, but his tone was one of resignation. "A truly enormous prat."

"But...?

Draco sighed. "But...I love you too." He scowled. "That doesn't change the fact that you're a prat." He shook his head, looking disgusted with himself. "I must have a thing for prats."

A wave of exclamations swept through the stands, and suddenly everyone was talking at once.

"I love you, Seamus!" cried Dean Thomas.

"I love you, Dean!" cried Seamus Finnigan.

"I love you, Justin!" said Ernie Macmillan.

"I love you, Ernie!" said Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"I love you, Remus," howled Harry's godfather.

"I love you, Sirius," howled Professor Lupin.

"I love you, Vincent," grunted Goyle.

"I love you, Gregory," grunted Crabbe.

A dark-haired centaur danced onto the field below, causing Ron to cringe and finally break away from his kiss with a startled Hermione. But, "I love Dobby!" the centaur cried. "You see, I just have this thing about toes. And flobberworms. And shrivelfigs. Other than that, I'm perfectly normal. For a centaur. Oh, and I also have this thing about house elves. Oh, my, yes. Mustn't forget house elves."

Up in the Gryffindor stands, Dobby bounced exuberantly in his seat. "And Dobby loves Amalfi! Ever so much!"

"I love you, Severus," said Professor Flitwick.

Snape inched away with a look of horror.

"And I love a good Canary Cream," announced Dumbledore, biting into one and promptly transforming into an enormous yellow bird. He fluffed his feathers excitedly.

Ron gazed around in wonder. "Are we the only two completely straight people at Hogwarts?" he asked Hermione, tightening his uninjured arm and snuggling her closer on his lap.

"Well...." Hermione fidgeted. "I did sort of have a brief affair with your sister last year."

Ron's jaw dropped. "What? What?" His mouth continued opening and closing, but no sound came out.

"Stop that, Ron," Hermione ordered. "You look like a fish. You'll scare the ivy."

"But...you had an affair with my sister!" he spluttered. "A lesbian affair!" He paused, considered. "That is so _hot_."

Hermione sighed and patted his cheek. "You are definitely a straight boy."

In the stands, it was an orgy of confession. Down below, Ginny and Blaise shared a torrid embrace. Harry and Draco held each other close while Draco's tongue explored the ear of the Boy Who Lived. Harry's voice was languorous as he murmured, "What is that I feel thumping against me, love?"

Draco pulled his mouth away. "What? I thought that was you." He began patting himself down, then reached into the trousers of his Quidditch uniform.

"Draco!" Harry hissed. Around them, miraculously, the crowds had gone silent, watching in prurient fascination as Draco's hand rooted around in his trousers. He seemed to be tugging at something, and Harry's face was turning ten shades of Gryffindor scarlet on his behalf.

At last, Draco pulled his hand back out and triumphantly raised his clenched fist. Clearly visible between his fingers were the wings of the Golden Snitch. The spectators roared.

"What--?" Harry stammered. "How--?"

"It was tangled in one of the straps of my garter belt," Draco replied, smirking. "Chalk up one Quidditch Cup to the power of Slytherin tradition."

"But I--you--" Harry's hands flapped ineffectually, and he looked about to cry.

"Oh, get over it already, Potter," Draco sighed. "It's not as if you've never lost before."

"But never to _you_!" Harry yelled, stamping his foot.

Draco stared. "Did you just stamp your foot at me? You bloody _girl_."

"I'll show you who's a girl," Harry growled, and took a flying leap at Draco. The two of them tumbled to the ground and began rolling to and fro across the pitch, legs flailing, punches flying, bodies in contact from chest to knees, faces pressed close together....

"Oh, dear," sighed Professor McGonagall, a voyeuristic sparkle in her eye, "there they go again."


End file.
